


prickle on the skin, ache in the heart

by Tarredion



Series: birthday gifts [9]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2014, Alcohol, Closeted, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Party, Self Confidence Issues, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion
Summary: phil smiles wider, brighter. every day.every day, dan falls in love again.he can’t help but be a little jealous, not being able to say
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: birthday gifts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596304
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	prickle on the skin, ache in the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoapuddle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoapuddle/gifts).



> happy bday!!
> 
> thanks to [dayday](https://peggyschuylerbasically.tumblr.com) for being beta

_ A black-toed boot steps into the room, followed by his handsome boyfriend dressed in a tight blue button-up and sleek black pants. He pauses, eyes flickering up and down Dan’s body. _

_ “Oh, that’s.. you look.. nice.” _

_ Dan feels himself glow. “You too.” _

_ “Don’t, uh, distract me,” Phil mutters, stifling a smirk. His hand lands on the small of Dan's back, gently leading him out the door. _

_ It has to leave when they go. A ghost only they know. _

-

Dan sips on a drink chosen for him, squirming in his seat at the bitterness. Definitely not to his taste.

From across the bar, he makes eye-contact with Phil, the only face he  _ observes _ in the crowd. The colour of the shirt lights up his eyes, his pale cheekbones glistening and beads of sweat forming like pearls on his skin. His fringe is a mess, but that’s the prettiest part of him tonight.

It’s a dumb, pretentious party, with too many pretentious people, all eating pretentious food and drinking pretentious things. And if he had his way, he’d rather be in a dimly lit room, away from everyone else, shoving his mouth against his.

But they're there for the BBC, and can’t just get out of there (yet).

He hates it; hates the strobe lights and the music and the noise in his ears and most of all, the carefully crafted distance between them. To his left, Aled initiates a drinking game, and Dan forces himself to tear his gaze away. Yearning doesn’t make the night pass any faster, it never has - he should know better than to think that.

He indulges himself, and watches the games unfold in front of him, but who does he kid - Phil’s always in the corner of his eye. Always there, always the most important to him.

It doesn’t take long before Dan finds he has someone to keep his eye on, and he does, no matter how uncharacteristically cynical it is of him. He doesn’t like to make assumptions in situations like this, but it makes his blood boil, just… seeing it unfold.

This one blond brute... Someone Dan first thought was being rude -and was ready to chew out- knocking into Phil each time he left the bar with a new set of drinks, started talking to him, and  _ he _ doesn’t seem able to keep his  _ blabbering _ mouth _ shut. _ Even after  _ Apologizing. _

_ Fuck, _ Dan thinks, downing his -fourth? fifth?- drink as he watches the guy laugh and take Phil in with hunger in his eyes. The way his hands arrange the wisps of his hair, his lean on the bar… his intent is obvious, and Dan practically growls. 

Knowing he can’t do anything without causing a scene is the worst part. 

He’s the jealous type, there’s no denying it, but the alcohol corrodes any sense of rationality. His stomach drops, at each and every near-touch. 

And when the guy has gotten Phil to laugh  _ too _ loudly at a stupid fucking joke, Dan can’t stop himself any longer.

He gets off his chair, pushes past and grabs Phil, acid boiling in his throat, not stopping until they’re way down the corridor and the music is a distant memory. 

Really, it’s Phil that shoves him off, then catches him as he crumbles, covering those black-toed boots with bile and vomit.

“Shit, are you okay?”

Dan lets himself be held despite the ache, guilt overwhelming him in the wake of an empty stomach. It takes a moment before he’s able to lean comfortably on his elbows, but Phil’s grip on him isn’t any more comforting than the hardwood floor against his shins. Not right now.

“S-sorry,” he chokes out. “Should’ve probably let you run off with Mr. Sexy earlier, you probably don’t want to hold my hair up for me when you could be snogging him.”

Phil sighs, but it’s almost fond. “Who?“ His slender fingers wipe away the wetness of tears Dan didn’t even notice were there. 

“I was wishing to get the hell out of here. With you. You know I love you too fucking much to even notice anyone else, especially tonight, Dan.” Oh.

_ Oh. _

Fuck, he feels dumb, even if he knows he shouldn’t.

Tears threaten to fall again. The apology is a whisper on his lips, hands roughly wiping the snot from his face.

Phil smiles, hoisting him up by his shoulders. “We’re fine. You don’t have to apologize.” -and how could he ever doubt him- “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

Rosey patches bright, Dan lets his mouth and face be washed by Phil’s nimble hands, as caring as always, and with it the jealousy slowly seems to slip away. Once he’s squeaky clean, Phil moves on to his shoes, and Dan leans his head on the sink to watch as he (ridiculously enough) sticks his whole foot beneath the running tap. Wet socks.

Deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t have heart or mind to stop him. 

There’s a tug in his chest as he watches him scrub down to the polish with a towel, leg swung in a way that is strangely attractive. 

Yet Dan is well aware that the locked door has created this opportunity, but he’ll take it. It's much better than wallowing in beer and misery, watching others try flirting with your boyfriend.

He licks his lips, gut heavy, the leftover alcohol swashing about. There’s an anxiety crawling beneath his skin, now of a different kind.

His gaze flickers between the strip of skin peeking out from beneath Phil’s shirt, and the direction of voices and footsteps occasionally passing by. Even so privately, they’re still not home nor alone, so the fear is still there, however buried it may be.

“Done.” Phil lets his arms drop. As if he’s read Dan’s mind, he says; “Do you want to go home?” and that’s enough for him to know. 

It’s nearing 1am by the time the cab drops them off on their street. Phil pays, then stumbles towards the apartment, hands on Dan’s hips to keep them both from falling (or that’s what he says: Dan doesn’t believe him one bit).

They’re warm there, burning through the fabric, and Dan feels a flush rise up his sides, neck, and into his cheeks.

He must’ve blushed enough for it to be seen in the darkness, for the second they’ve staggered through their front door, he’s spun around. A lightweight in the hands of him, and he loves it - maybe a bit too much, but that’s the intoxication talking.

Phil’s breath is rapid and hot on his face, back pressed flush against the door. They fumble, desperately, but kissing so nervously and gently two different scenes could be unfolding.

“Pretty,” Phil hums, pink cheeks showing off the one or two drinks he’s had, too.

“I’ve been holding back all day.” He tilts his head slightly, in the way he does, to peck him square on the lips (Dan’ll always be a little taller, always has been, he knows. It’s of habit now.) “Want - you.”

Dan’s smile is a tell-all sign, and with a kiss of his own, leads them away.

There’s no bother turning any of the lights on.

-

_ The breeze behind the blinds is chilling against his bare bust. On the other side of the bed, Phil burrows his head deep in his pillow, whining. _

_ “If we’re ever asked to go to an event ever again, throw away the invitation,” he murmurs, voice crispy. _

_ Dan chuckles, turning to look at him. Phil tries to disappear, nuzzling the pillow with his face. _

_ There’s a pause. “Are you being a mole?” _

_ “Uhu, a hundred percent” Phil responds, looking up at him. There  _ _ is _ _ something rather mole-like about his morning face, without his glasses on. “’m a mole now. If you wanna come visit, you’ve gotta dig down to me. Swim in the dirt.” _

_ “Moles don’t swim, _ _ Lester.” _

_ “They do. You’re just dumb.” _

_ “And you’re my mole. See-” He points to one Phil’s always keen on kissing, down on his jaw. “-here you are.” _

_ With a cheeky grin, Phil follows and pecks it. Dan sighs under his touch, dropping backwards, half-covering his eyes. Still, his heart pounds hard in his chest. _

_ “...aand back to being dumb.” _

_ “Always.” His smile is lopsided, pretty, beautiful.  _ _ “Your _ _ dumb.” _

_ “Sap.” _

_ “Just like you.” _

_ Dan flushes, but finds he doesn’t dislike it. “I know,” he stutters out. “And I love it” _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> reblog ['ere](https://tarredion.tumblr.com/post/630620317599055872/prickle-on-the-skin-ache-in-the-heart), if ud like :3


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